Here Comes Chaos!
by ViolinElectrician
Summary: Aimirgin is an Irish-Spanish almost emancipated minor with trust issues and anger management problems. She has an unknown brother, long estranged from her, as she was adopted, and she's moving in with the Taylors.
1. Character Info

**Okay, Peeps, it's been a long time since I even **_**thought **_**of writing a Home Improvement story. Haha, I never even posted the ones I wrote. I deleted them, but… this time, it's for real. Okay, so my beginning plotline… my main character's irresponsible parents have regained contact with the Taylors—whom they went to college with—and are enlisting them to take care of their daughter because they are too busy 'living life to the fullest' to pay attention to her, and they don't want her to file for emancipation—although this has the same effect anyway. They aren't exactly the smartest. Anyway… now for my character. **

**Name: Aimirgin Vanessa Taryn **

**Origin: Irish and Spanish decent**

**Age: 15—as of now**

**Languages: Irish, English and Spanish**

**Family: Unnamed older brother, Brandi (Mother), Max (Father)**

**Strengths: Music and literature, really responsible at times.**

**Stretches: Math, Science and Short Temper—as well as being a little bit of a rebel.**

**Typical Outfit: Red and black leather racing jacket, black skinny jeans, red Airwalks with white angel wings on the side, black turtleneck t-shirt and a necklace with a G on it—no one knows what the G stands for.**

**Hair: Black, curly, long**

**Eyes: Yellow/Gold**

**Love Interest: Randy**

**Okay, she's also polite in a rude way and she's sort of monotonous, but at most times has a sarcastic and indifferent smirk on her face. She tends to know automatically if someone should be trusted, but doesn't tend to trust those she gets a good vibe from immediately.**


	2. Prologue

Tim Taylor sighed as he sat down at his kitchen table, next to his wife, Jill, who was on her laptop, checking her email.

"Hey, Jill, got any important emails?" he asked. She looked at him for a second, silently scolding him for snooping and then looked back at her screen.

"Yeah, there's one. It's an email from Max Taryn—you know, from college?" she replied. He nodded. "It's rather assertive, Tim, check it out." She turned the laptop towards him so he could see.

To: 

**From: **

**Subject: Teenaged Daughter, please help me.**

**Hi, it's Max Taryn, from college. Tim, Jill, please, you're the only ones I can think to ask. My daughter, well, we can't take care of her anymore. She thinks we're neglecting her and she's prepared to file for emancipation! I was wondering—I know it's a lot to ask—would you possibly be able to take care of her? Just until she turns 18, then she's not your problem. But please, I'm begging.**

**Sincerely,**

** Max Taryn**

"What? Assertive is an understatement!" he exclaimed. "He isn't responsible enough to take care of his daughter so he enlists us? We haven't talked in years!"

"I know," Jill said.

"So, what do we do?" Tim asked clueless.

"Well, it sounds like he really can't handle her, and I feel sympathy for her," she said.

"**Wait, so what? You're saying we should take care of her?" he asked. Jill nodded. "What?"**

"**Well, I got this email this morning and I've been thinking about it all day! This sounds like a serious situation for them, and they have no one else to ask!" she said. Tim sighed, and threw his hands up, knowing he'd never win the argument. She stood up and ran to the phone. "Great! I'll call them! I found their number online!" His eyes widened.**

"**What? Were you just planning this before we decided?" he asked.**

"**Well, yeah, I knew I was going to win anyway, so I just planned ahead," she said. He opened his mouth to protest but figured losing one argument was enough for one day—especially one this drastic. So then it was settled. Max Taryn's daughter—yet to be named to the Taylors—was coming to live with them.**


	3. Chapter One

"Hey, Parental Units, what's up?" Mark Taylor asked, walking into the kitchen. Tim looked at him with an amusingly distressed face.

"Your mom has decided to take in some random daughter of one of our college friends… she's coming to live with us," he said.

"What? We don't have room for another person," Mark protested.

"Well," Jill said walking over and standing between them. "She'll have a choice, we can either have her move into that huge empty boiler room in the basement—which for no reason, Tim built a bathroom into—or she can take your room." Mark scoffed.

"What? That's no fair! That boiler room sucks! She'll take my room and you know it! Any self respecting person would!" he said.

"Well, who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky and she won't respect herself!" Tim said. Jill sighed. Mark looked at him confused.

"What?" he asked. "No, she should take Brad's. I'm younger, I have to live here longer." As if on cue, Randy and Brad walked in.

"Who should take my what?" Brad asked.

"Room," Mark said. "Mom and Dad have decided to let some random girl move in with us." Randy and Brad made almost identical faces of perplexity.

"_What_? Is it someone we know? Someone from school?" Brad asked, hopefully. Randy stared at him with a how-can-you-be-thinking-of-hot-girls-at-a-time-like-this face.

"When?" he asked, ignoring Brad.

"Tomorrow," Jill said.

"Was anyone going to tell us?" Randy asked.

"We just did," Tim said. "Your mom called them like three minutes ago… I'm going to go work on the hotrod." Randy, Brad and Mark sat down at the table.

"What if she's totally mean to us and hates us?" Mark asked.

"Or if she's one of those superficial brats who treats everyone else like crap?" Randy followed.

"Or super hot…" Brad trailed off into his own world. His brothers just stared at him for a split second.

"Or what if she's really uptight?" Mark asked. "Like Randy."

"Hey!" Randy exclaimed. "I am not uptight!"

"Look," Jill said, cutting the boys off. "Her name is Aimbirgin Taryn. She goes by Avery. She's a really sweet girl. I've talked to her."

"What does her voice sound like?" Brad asked.

"Uh, well, not high pitched, not girly… uh, sort of a sultry low voice," she said. "She's sort of a tomboy, apparently." That was when the phone rang. Jill picked it up. "Hello?… Oh, hi, Avery. Yeah… uh… yeah… just one second… um, would you be okay with moving into a room in the basement, or do you want Mark's room?" she asked. "Oh? Okay, okay, that's great. Okay. I'll tell him that. Bye." She put the phone back on the hook and turned to Mark.

"What did she say?" he asked. "About my room."

"She said that she'll take the basement, because she doesn't want to shove you out of your room seeing as you're the youngest and you have to live here longer." Jill laughed at the irony.

"Yes!" Mark exclaimed.

"But that's not why she called. She called to say her dad is driving her up in the morning," she said. "Okay? Are we all okay with that? No fussing?" The boys nodded.

"Boys, are you awake? Hurry up! Avery's going to be here!" Tim yelled up the stairs. The doorbell rang and he swung it open. "Al!" he exclaimed upon seeing his flannel-shirted friend.

"Hi, Tim, what's up? Just stopping by," he said.

"Aw, come on, Al, we're waiting for someone important," Tim replied, as the doorbell rang again. "Wilson…" The wise neighbor walked in with plant in hand, covering his chin completely.

"Wilson? Wilson is more important than me?" Al asked, upset that he was undermined.

"No, no, we aren't waiting for Wilson. We're waiting for Max and Avery!" Tim said finally. "That girl Jill decided to take in?" Al and Wilson nodded.

"Ah, I see, taking in the less fortunate," Wilson said.

"No, she's not less fortunate, she's more fortunate, much more fortunate," Tim said as Randy walked down the stairs and the doorbell rung yet again. "Ugh, who is it this time?!" Tim yelled, swinging the door open again. It was Max. "Max! Hi!"

"Hi, Tim. Listen, I have to be leaving, but I'll just leave her to you. My wife's waiting in the car," Max said. He had black hair, slicked back, dark sunglasses and a Gucci suit. Randy looked down. They were way more fortunate. Max walked back to his car and a red Airwalk sneaker stepped out from behind the doorway, followed by navy blue skinny jeans, a black t-shirt and a sleeveless red hoodie with a plaid hood, all clothing a petite girl with brown straight hair and an angelic face with pale skin. She was wearing sunglasses with a Nokia 9300 in hand. As soon as she saw Tim and Randy staring at her, she put the Nokia in her pocket and took the sunglasses off, hanging them on her shirt collar.

"Hi," she said, smiling calmly in a slight monotone. "I'm Avery. And you are?"

"I'm Tim," Tim said, smiling. "This is my son Randy, and these two are my neighbors Wilson and Al."

"Nice to meet you," she said. She ran her hand down her bangs which had rocket red tips. She nodded awkwardly.

"Uh, oh, right, come in!" Tim said. He pushed Randy out of the way to let her in. She gave Randy a sympathetic look and stepped inside. He could tell she didn't mean to step on anybody's feelings. Brad and Mark all of a sudden galloped loudly down the stairs.

"Hi! Thank you for not taking my room!" Mark said. She smiled a little wider at that. It faded quickly back to her original welcoming smirk.

"No problem," she said. Brad gawked.

"Thank you for being hot," he said. She cocked her head confusedly.

"Thank you for being subtle, Brad," Randy said. He shook his head ashamedly.

"It's fine," Avery said. "I'm flattered… sort of…" For the first time in her life, Avery Taryn was at a loss for words.

**LOL what's going to happen with Avery and the boys? Haha. She's at a loss for words because Brad is being so assertive and boy—Randy's living up to that 'uptight' name Mark gave him. Hahaha! **


	4. Chapter Two

Avery stood by awkwardly as Al, Wilson and Tim moved all of her stuff into the proper places in her new room, while she did nothing. She'd insisted on helping, while Al and Wilson had protested, saying that they felt it their obligation to help her. Obligation? What? Was she crippled? She could pull her own weight. If she had been a rude person, she would've surely said this to them, but instead she just stared uncomfortably. She stood in the doorway and out of nowhere Randy stepped up next to her. She looked at him.

"You have a lot of stuff," he said, quietly.

"Yeah, I guess," she paused. "Is your dad always this humble?" she asked, emphasizing 'humble' as if she was saying 'stupid' or something.

"You don't like it? You don't have to do anything," he said.

"I don't. Not at all. I like to do things myself, and this is just downright irritating," she said. He smirked.

"You won't get him to stop. Even if you told him he was annoying you, he wouldn't stop," he said.

"I know. I asked him to stop, and, as you said, he didn't," she replied. She crossed her arms and he put his hands in his pockets.

"Is this, like, awkward for you or something?" Mark asked walking up. "I mean, you're filthy rich, and you get basically whatever you want handed to you on a silver platter." He sounded almost resentful towards her.

"Gold," she said simply. He looked at her quizzically.

"What?" he asked.

"Gold," she said, looking straight ahead, no facial expression. "If I get anything 'handed to me on a platter,' the platter is gold, not silver. My dad thinks silver is cheap. If you're going to insult the rich, know their world." She began walking out but stopped right outside the doorway. "And if I _do _get handed something in that method or any way similar to that, I don't take it. I prefer to work for what I receive." With that, she continued walking. She hadn't been lying when she said that. She was being absolutely honest. She did not take any 'gold or silver platters' handed to her without a fair price. As she stepped into the hall from the staircase, she came face to face with an eager looking Brad. "_Oh, _my god!" she exclaimed. She gasped.

"Sorry, sorry, did I scare you? Sorry," he said. She shook her head and shrugged it off. She walked past slowly towards the door. She didn't usually act this way, but she didn't do well with people she didn't know getting on her case. She normally wasn't ridiculed for her social status--nor would she expect to be abandoned by her father. So she simply walked outside and stared at the sky. She looked at it for about 20 minutes before Mark walked out.

"Hey, I'm sorry I went off on you," he said. She could tell he meant it.

"S'okay," she mumbled. "I understand your resentment... well, actually, I don't, but it doesn't hurt to say that I do, right? Let's pretend I do."

"Okay," he replied. "I shouldn't have judged you for your social class. It's not like you asked for it."

"No, I didn't ask for it," she said. "But I don't view it as a class. It's really just money. It's not a big deal." It seemed like this girl had all the answers. It was like no matter what she was asked, she knew, she just knew. "And I wasn't mad at you or anything like that. I was just setting the record straight. And my dad does think silver is cheap."

"Yeah, but you're wearing it," he pointed out, motioning to her silver bracelet dangling on her wrist, a silver crown charm weighting the bracelet towards the ground.

"Yeah, that's why. He hates it, so I wear it, just to get on his nerves. Despite how responsible I may act, I have sharp vengeance towards my father, and I'm fully aware of it." She let out a huff that was kind of a laugh, but also an expression of annoyance at her dad. "He's never paid attention to me, and if being bad is the only way to get him to acknowledge me--despite the stereotypes of a rebellious kid--what is one to do? Nothing but revolt, Mark. It's what I do to pass the time. I revolt."

"Isn't that just a waste of time? I mean, don't you have friends to hang with?" he asked.

"Yeah," she nodded. "Many people fight for my time, because they think living life on the edge will bump their social status. I serve as an example of what not to do, even though I may make it look good. Don't follow me. I'm terrible and a bad example, and I know it. The only good thing I do is to watch--in the most minute way--for my own safety."

"So you want to be a bad kid?" he asked. She huffed.

"Hells, yeah. Nothing but bad. I'm bad and I know it," she said enthusiastically. "But it's not that hard to understand. I mean, you say you don't get it--well, you haven't actually said that, but you implied it--but I suppose it would only make sense to the one thinking it. Like, if I was suicidal--I'm not, just for the record--but, if I was, it would make sense to me, but you would think I was crazy. But, I'm not going to go into some philosophical lecture about individual minds and all that stuff. Don't try to understand me, just roll with it."

"Okay, then," he said, obviously still contemplating the words she'd said. He wasn't going to try to understand. It would've taken too much effort.


End file.
